


The Day of February 14th

by VenomQuill



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Different ships are mentioned, F/M, I wrote this at home alone! :D, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenomQuill/pseuds/VenomQuill
Summary: It's February 14th, and everyone knew what the paper meant.
Relationships: Abigail Stone/Wilson Stone, Burt Curtis/Sven Svensson, Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Kudos: 16





	The Day of February 14th

It was February 14th.

February in Red Mesa brought back the town’s namesake in spades. Passionate reds, soft pinks, and bold whites hung about the town and its occupants as cartoon hearts competed with the natural shapes and colors of the oft dull town. Signs and posters and stickers urged the existence of their services or products, something that must be done today as it was February 14th.

He’d have hardly spent the day together with anyone, in the “spirit of the day” at least. He had a job to do, and the memory of some old saint that did something romantic enough to have an entire holiday named after him wasn’t enough to make the local inmates any less unhappy over their position or the criminals any less bold. So, Rupert stayed vigilant, much more so than he had even a month ago. Years of working at Red Mesa Penitentiary with everything going _right_ for him caused him to get a little… not lazy, but less attentive. And what happened to his former partner when _he_ wasn’t attentive was still heavy in his mind. But it wasn’t all bad; a month had passed, and Rupert knew he was being a little sour, but they’d cracked down more on security. Not one escape attempt. They even caught a package with a tool inside. Now _that_ had spurred an immediate investigation. The force needed to make up for their loss, and Rupert was the most determined of them. Johnny was just as passionate about the job as he, but he was right in that a coffee break wasn’t a bad thing.

Today, the local coffee shop was offering a holiday deal and limited-edition coffee flavorings and bakery goods.

Dave really needed the coffee and the cute little strawberry muffin staring at him through the glass. Exhaustion draped over him as he was usually on the night shift at the local museum. Well, he’d mostly schedule for the day, but he couldn’t turn down anyone asking to cover for them and almost _no one_ wanted the night shift. He’d hardly been in the museum a few weeks and he’d already fit in. No breaking up prisoners, no arrests, and no checking packages for cakes or other instruments. During the day, he simply needed to keep an eye out for any wandering hands, edgy teens trying to impress their peers, or helping bored children back to their parents. A lot of their valuables were copies, sure, but they could afford some originals, mostly in the medieval section. Which meant the medieval section had the most security–both to protect their most valuable possessions and keep people from cutting themselves on the weapons clearly marked “DO NOT TOUCH”–and so he knew it well. Dave drank his coffee–ah, yes, peppermint was today’s seasonal syrup–and munched on his muffin alone in a squishy chair.

So, yeah, couples were a huge thing today, but February 14th not only glorified them, but accentuated those who were alone. It simultaneously put a sign on them and banished them to obscurity.

But that was fine with him. The escapee leaned back in his chair, feet crossed on his desk, head tipped back over the head of the chair. Loneliness for him meant more than just sleeping in a chilly bed or having a phone void of obnoxiously kissy photos. It meant he had zero new e-mails, no new texts, no missed calls, and a mailbox with a lonely pink parchment advertising a product that would make his nonexistent partner happy. No parents to rub in his face their own happiness, siblings to complain of solitude or buzz about a partner, no nieces or nephews showing off school art projects stringy with ribbon and bleeding glitter.

Again, it was fine. Who needed a clingy family to complain when their little rascal still wasn’t giving them grandchildren?

So, she was the only daughter in a family of four boys. They didn’t have kids. In fact, Jacob wasn’t even married. But of _course_ , as their eldest, her ovaries didn’t belong to her. Her parents were _entitled_ to grandchildren. She was twenty-eight-years-old, why didn’t she have three children already? Why wasn’t she married? Was she lesbian? They knew she had some mysterious partners. Must just be her rough-and-tumble, very unladylike mannerisms that chased off boys. Well, Ellie mused as she rested her elbow on the blue-haired mohawk punk beside her, wailing music in the packed living room drowning out the scant texts she received from her parents, her body belonged to her. To be honest, she could do as she pleased. And that meant the _other_ thing she wanted to do rested in a warehouse a few miles down the road out in the middle of nowhere. First, she would need to warm up and shake the snow from her gel-shaped hair.

But a nice solo heist. A big one was something very sorely missed.

Chief Reginald was very well aware of what day it was. As such, he’d coordinated the day to be as fruitful as possible with what they had, as he’d anticipated the amount of people asking for time off. He, for the slightest millisecond, considered the same. But if he took a break, it would fall on his deputy, his right hand, his enforcer, his Right Hand Man. Or, technically, it could fall to Sven, their third and Chief Reginald’s tentative, informal, and very unannounced “apprentice.” But Chief Reginald didn’t, well, didn’t _have_ a partner to celebrate the spirit of the day. It wasn’t for a lack of desire but ability. He’d always wanted more, always desired what he couldn’t–or thought he couldn’t–have. It helped him come to power. It taught him rough lessons, their presence shown in the scars in his mind or over his physical body. But Chief Reginald always came out on top.

So, he shouldn’t have it, why should that matter? He was a thief, a criminal–he didn’t care about what he _should_ do or _shouldn’t_ have.

But he’d found order and attachment truly for the first time in a long, _long_ time. He couldn’t mess it up. The Toppat Clan gave him a home, a purpose, a name. Reginald was his greatest and truest friend, the one who gave him a name that had _meaning_. Right Hand Man. He hadn’t known this type of stability in God knows how long, ironically enough. When Chief Reginald offered him this job, what else could he say? His answer had been near immediate. Yes, there were rules and downsides, but at the time, he couldn’t care. He’d never dreamt of having a family, anyway; a wife and children and a little home. No, that life wasn’t for him. A quiet life. His life had been anything but quiet. Check-ups were on the monthly by now, and he’d gotten good at first aid. This was especially helpful when Chief Reginald made a show of something because that just meant there was something he needed to hide. Something he trusted Right Hand Man with seeing.

He trusted him quite a bit, and for that he was grateful. But it was silly ~~hoping~~ imagining something more between them, misreading signs that weren’t there.

Sven wasn’t unused to invitations to soirees or informal get-togethers on holidays or breaks. He also wasn’t unused to declining them and had a whole list of excuses he could pick from. Sometimes it was legitimate, sometimes he just spun a wheel and created one. But the invitations were often fanciful or full of meaningless text. He knew he should be accepting these, going out and meeting people. The chief told him that knowing how the political web of the Clan works and what his job would consist of were imperative but knowing the _social_ network of their fellow Clanmates was important, too. But now, Sven held something different. A semi-plain note written in scrawling words of red ink: “ _Café at six?_ ” He flipped it over, finding a torn corner segment of some printed text and “Page 5” at the top. No name. He turned it back over. He recognized this handwriting; it was hard not to do so. Yeah, it was February 14th, but Burt invited him over plenty of times, mostly just to talk.

Still, clutching the note in his hand, he couldn’t help the skip of his heart. The warmth that bloomed inside of him.

He didn’t normally write, not with a pen and paper. He mostly typed his notes or sent emails. He knew the chief preferred things in writing, so he set up a printer and fax machine. Burt’s handwriting was atrocious, and he knew it. There wasn’t any changing that, most of his life spent behind a screen and owning no personal notebooks of his own. But there were some things that just weren’t… well, he couldn’t e-mail it. He couldn’t text it. Sure, most of the time when he invited Sven over somewhere or agreed to meet–mostly in his office, but on occasion in the breakroom or cafeteria–he’d send a text and get a reply within, what, five minutes? Ten? But this felt… this felt different. He ended up scrawling a time and place on a scrap of paper he later realized was the back of a document he was supposed to send somewhere, ripped off the piece of paper, and stuck it into a mail slot on Sven’s door. Yeah, he knew what day it was. Maybe he was being a little too bold, but they’d known each other for some time, albeit most of it being over a screen as they were in separate divisions for quite some time, and Burt was feeling a little bold.

He’d been bold before, and it served him well. There was stress, and distance made it hard for a long time, but they were okay.

They were more than okay. Fifteen years he had this little band on his finger. He worked long days and there were times when he didn’t go home for extended periods of time. But that’s just because he was important. He was the director of this branch of the CCC. People depended upon him. Wilson loved his job. It could get boring at times, but they made the world a safer place, containing the chaos that would otherwise ravage the world untamed like wildfires. But Wilson wasn’t exactly paying much attention to work at the moment. He tried to focus, and even more tried to hide it. However, Larry made it well known that his distraction wasn’t exactly discrete. He didn’t ask why, though. Wilson would be going home today. He could come home to his wife and son, listen to Timmy about the adventures he had while Wilson was away, and spend all night with Abigail without worrying about getting up early the next day.

He had family to spend time with, and he had friends. He’d be let out of work soon.

He was still in the air, but honestly? There was no other place he’d rather be right now. Up in the chilly February sky carrying people for an important mission. Behind him, the exhausted, bone-chilled soldiers behind him chattered on about their mission and relief, which quickly turned into what they’d be doing this evening. Well, Charles didn’t exactly have any big plans. Last year, he did. He always went way out with his SO, if he had one. He didn’t have many that lasted for too long, sure, but they _rarely_ ended on sour notes. They were still friends, and that was fine. It was only awkward to be in a group where they had one ex in common if one made it awkward, and that just wasn’t his style. Well, this year he didn’t have someone to go out with, but he knew the Buck twins were single, and Liam and June weren’t either. They weren’t a thing, they’d both stated outright. Unless they were changing that, maybe they’d have time to do something. Charles sorely hoped he wasn’t too late or was being too pushy. He was both at times and one thing he hated more than spending a long night alone was spending a long night with people who didn’t want him there or were only there to _be nice_. …eh, even if all else failed, someone was hosting a game night. He could go to that.

The day was chilly, but the night even more so. Most people would be staying indoors tonight.

Warden Dmitri was under no delusions today would go any more smoothly than it did yesterday just because it was February 14th. Guards would be distracted, maybe inmates, too. So, he just needed to find the people who were professional enough to pay attention at work and do what needed to be done. To ensure today was as productive as possible, Warden Dmitri sent off Grigori to do a surprise inspection while he walked around his complex himself. There hadn’t been an escape attempt in a very long time. But! Knowing which inmates tended to prefer which inmates was important. Knowing if any guards were sneaking off with some of them was important as well. Every year he gained new information and ways to keep his reputation. He wasn’t going to stop just because his own guards complained. Grigori was on his side.

February 14th; there was honestly nothing too special about it. Just more work to be done.

Quite frankly, Grigori was _done_ with the routine of walking in on a couple of guards not doing their jobs. In the beginning of his career, it was hilarious to see the lovebirds attempt to come up with some excuse as to why they weren’t at their stations. But now, about half a decade later, it didn’t even phase him. Catching a guard in a closet with a prisoner was honestly the most exciting thing that happened to him that day, and even that was just because he still got a little bit of a kick out of the look on their faces when he called his boss by name. With anyone else, they could probably bullshit their way through. Warden Dmitri and Grigori had gotten multiple false reports from offended or jealous people angry about being rejected or their ex moving on or just using the day as an opportunity to get back on someone they didn’t like. But Grigori wouldn’t lie, and even if he did Warden Dmitri wouldn’t blink. Heh. The man didn’t wear a wedding ring, neither of them did. The one who once shared a ring with Grigori, one she first put on February 14th as the stupid kids they were, no longer wore it. It didn’t make him mad anymore. Few things did these days. Warden Dmitri still had a ring, but he often hid it in his pocket until night came when he would against see his wife. Not that he was advertising himself as a bachelor; he just didn’t like how it made him feel. How bound to something it made Warden Dmitri feel. This was one thing that tended to get under Grigori’s skin, even now all these years later. He relished the feeling of a metal band against the skin of his now wrinkled, scarred fingers.

It was February 15th.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something for Valentine's Day and this just... appeared. lol I decided to toss about every faction (Police, Neutral, Toppat, CCC, Government, The Wall) and it turned out pretty fun. I had a lot of fun with the transitions and The Wall portion.


End file.
